Chivalry and Other Curses
by nomorealurker
Summary: McGonagall and Hermione discover the positive and negative aspects of being Gryffindors. Cuddles may ensue.
1. Chapter the First

**Author's Note: Greetings, FFN. As you can see from my nom de plume, I am stepping from the shadows to try my hand. I expect I will be expanding on this short bit I have written but felt it best to have a go with what follows before I lose my nerve. [Edit: I have found my two reviews thus far encouraging; as of 11:00 CST (GMT -5), this is now double what it was at first publishing.] **

"...and then the dried up old dyke took ten points from Slytherin. She could have had ten more more all I care; you should have seen the look on the Mudblood's face!"

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy. I shall be glad to take ten more points from Slytherin, given your apathy. I do hope you shan't be put out if I take a further twenty for repeating your vile slurs."

Professor Minerva McGonagall stepped out from behind a stone pillar bordering the courtyard where she had been listening to the very end of Malfoy's rant. She mentally rolled her eyes at his foolishness at not at least retreating to the safety of his common room prior to engaging in such talk; however, since the beginning of the term, he and the other Slytherins had grown more vocal – reckless, really – in their bigoted speech against muggle-borns, making no attempts to maintain any semblance of civility. Their confidence in Voldemort's return and planned rise to power was taking its toll on the tone of discourse at Hogwarts.

Malfoy spun round; he had been regaling anyone who would listen with the tale of how he, as he perceived it, had taken the mickey out of Hermione Granger during Transfiguration. Quite the crowd had gathered. He had not expected any professors to be nearby, however, and being caught out by the very professor he had been so colourfully insulting embarrassed him. Draco Malfoy did not take kindly to being embarrassed and as such, the last vestiges of his common sense went on holiday as he lost his temper.

"Why you foul old eavesdropping spinster; my father will hear about this you dried up old dy..."

Malfoy suddenly flew backward approximately ten meters through two hedges and a crowd of third year Ravenclaws – who possessed reflexes worthy of the Holyhead Harpies' starting lineup – before intersecting with a stone wall at high velocity. He slid to the ground, unconscious. The entire population of the courtyard turned, stunned, to Professor McGonagall who was in turn staring in disbelief at the source of the entirely silent and wandless hex.

Hermione Granger looked rather stunned herself for a moment, staring at the carnage she had just wrought upon the shrubbery. After only a brief hesitation, however, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and looked up to meet the professor's gaze. McGonagall, for her part, was torn between outrage at the attack on a student and mild awe at the – dare she think it – damned fine piece of magic she had just witnessed from the young woman. They regarded each other for a long moment, the professor speechless, Hermione steeling herself for a potential expulsion.

"Miss Granger, just what did you think you were doing?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Professor, it was incidental. However, I take full responsibility. Do you wish me to report to the Headmaster's office or to yours?"

A tiny flame of Gryffindor pride licked its way up from McGonagall's chest, but she maintained her visage of steel. "The Headmaster's office if you please, Miss Granger. I will join you after I attend to your...victim."

Hermione looked back at her with a level gaze. "I offer my sincere apologies for the inconvenience to you, Professor." She pivoted a half turn and made to leave, but paused. Turning back, Hermione met the professor's gaze once more with a look that burned into the woman's very soul and spoke.

"I have no regrets." She tossed the end of her scarf over her shoulder with a flash of Gryffindor gold, and then she was gone.

Professor McGonagall was dumbstruck at her student's act of chivalry. She felt a faint blush creeping up her chest to her face which she mentally forced back down, turning to the unconscious problem at hand.

"Levicorpus." She pointed her wand at Malfoy's sprawling form and escorted him to the hospital wing.

* * *

Hermione Granger walked resolutely to what she was certain was her impending doom. She knew that since the magic was incidental she would not be held legally responsible for assaulting Draco, but she also knew that she could not and would not apologise for rendering him unconscious. Thus, while she expected she would be spared a term in Azkaban, she also expected that she would be on her way back to her parents' house before the afternoon was out. Her one regret was that she would not be present to assist Harry and Ron with whatever it was that Harry was doing with Professor Dumbledore.

She was brought out of her musings by the realisation that she had reached the gargoyle protecting the door of the Headmaster's office. She had made most of the journey unconsciously. She shivered a bit before drawing herself to her full height and addressed the gargoyle.

"I have been sent by Professor McGonagall to see the Headmaster." The gargoyle paused before granting her entry. Hermione did her best to stop her hands shaking as the staircase wound its way upward. It always felt like a short ride, but today it seemed interminable. She feared she would begin to cry. She raised a fist to knock on the door, but it opened in front of her.

"Miss Granger. A pleasure indeed. Please, do come in and seat yourself while we await Professor McGonagall."

Hermione nodded once, unsurprised that the Headmaster knew she was coming. She was sure everyone in the castle knew about it, whether via painting, ghost, or student. She sat stiffly in the chair while the Headmaster seated himself behind his desk, smiling his enigmatic smile.

"Come now, my dear Miss Granger. It is not as bad as all that."

"I must say, Headmaster – with all due respect – I beg to differ."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed, sir."

"And why is that, Miss Granger?"

"Because, Headmaster," she rubbed her hands together nervously, her first physical manifestation of discomfort thus far, "I shall not be apologising to Draco. I did not mean to do what I did, but I do not regret it in the least."

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye dimmed only mildly. "Please, Miss Granger, do expand."

"Well, Headmaster, he was saying awful things about Professor McGonagall. Really quite vile things, indeed, and he has been going on all year about how he is going to curse her first when he gets the chance...and I just could not abide him saying those things to her. As I said, I did not mean to do it, but if he had gone on a half-second longer, I have to confess, Headmaster, I would have hexed him myself."

"Admirable indeed, Miss Granger, but you well know, of course, that Professor McGonagall can take care of herself."

"I do, of course, Headmaster, but..." she trailed off.

"Indeed?"

"Well, she takes care of us all of the time. She takes care of _me_, Headmaster, all of the time, and has for years – when people say vile things about me – and it just seems that someone perhaps should return her the favour. And so I did." She nodded once, her resolve returning. She sat up a little straighter, the muscles of her upper body flexing unconsciously.

From the doorway to the Headmaster's office, Minerva McGonagall heard everything after Dumbledore requested that Hermione expand on her earliest statement. A tear welled in her eye; she was really quite touched. She coughed and entered the office, the portraits on the wall following her movement.

Hermione set her jaw and stared at the Headmaster's desk, preparing to hear the tirade of disappointment she suspected would come from the professor. McGonagall, for her part, exchanged a look with Dumbledore before looking down at her resolute student. Looking back at Dumbledore, she smiled briefly, taking two steps toward Hermione who was feeling quite wretched but hiding it under Gryffindor bravado, staring at the movement of a metal instrument on the desk, unblinking. Stopping to Hermione's right, the professor inclined her head slightly, placed two fingers on her student's left jaw just behind her chin, and gently lifted the young woman's head up and to the right so that her eyes met Hermione's. She spoke softly.

"One hundred points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for unrepentantly assaulting another student." Hermione said nothing.

McGonagall leaned down a bit, closing the distance between the two of them to half a meter. Her next words were laced with a tenderness Dumbledore had not heard since she had sung an infant Harry Potter to sleep after his Christening and which Hermione Granger had never heard.

"My eternal gratitude to you, Hermione, for your chivalry. I will see you for your lesson this evening, I hope." The professor dropped a soft kiss onto the top of Hermione's head, patted her shoulder, and left the room.

Hermione was stunned. Her professor's reaction was the precise opposite of what she had expected. She blinked at Dumbledore and then turned back toward the door, then gazed up at the portraits, bewildered. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Eighty points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for showing true Gryffindor spirit and courage in the face of certain doom as well as unstinting loyalty to your professor and your ideals." He winked at her. "And twenty more for achieving wandless and wordless spellcasting so early in your career, for," he waved her protest away, "I expect you will find upon further reflection that you absolutely meant to send Mr Malfoy into that wall, unconscious though it may have been. No incidental magic would have been so powerful. I will have to ask you, however, to cease practicing your wandless and wordless hexes on students, if you please."

Hermione eyed the Headmaster appraisingly. "Of course, Headmaster." She frowned. "You mean I shan't be expelled?"

"Indeed not."

"But will Mr Malfoy raise a great fuss when he hears of this?"

"Quite."

"Headmaster?"

"Leave the Messieurs Malfoy to me, Miss Granger. I believe it is nearly time for dinner. Please give my regards to Mr Potter and Mr Weasley as well as young Miss Weasley."

Hermione stood, still slightly taken aback. "I shall, Headmaster. Thank you." She turned and left the office in a daze. She was not to meet her doom this day after all.

* * *

Hermione entered the Great Hall a few minutes after dinner had officially started, hoping to keep a low profile. What she received instead was a standing ovation from the Gryffindor table and claps of acknowledgement from the tables Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. From the Slytherin table, to her surprise, she received nothing but silence and murmurs of anger. No jeers, no catcalls. She did her best to keep her eyes front and found Harry and Ron, sitting with her back to the wall so as to see the rest of the hall. It would not do at this point to be hit in the back with a hex.

Professor McGonagall was at the head table as expected; what Hermione had not expected was how Professors Sprout and Sinistra as well as Madam Hooch were leaning over and around McGonagall and casting the occasional look her way. Once she thought she saw Hooch wink at her before she turned her attention back to her dinner. Ron and Harry, thankfully, were discussing an upcoming quidditch match. She expected she would give them a rundown of her view of events later, but they had grown up to the point where they realised she would rather discuss things in private rather than in public.

The only person who said anything to her at all was Ginny Weasley, who sidled up to her from down the table and sat straddling the bench. Hermione smiled her hello, assuming Ginny was coming to speak to Harry about the match, when Ginny hugged her and whispered in her ear.

"YOU are my bloody hero. If I fancied girls at all I would be doing my very best to get in your robes _right now._"

Hermione snickered and muttered her thanks. Ginny swung her other leg over the bench and gave Harry a resounding kiss on the cheek, much to Ron's dismay. Hermione continued to eat quietly, surreptitiously observing her tablemates as well as the population of the near end of the head table which had grown to include Professors Vector and Burbage. The latter cast her a friendly look after a few minutes while Vector solemnly nodded at her once. Even the normally reserved Sinistra sent a small smile her way. Finally, Professor McGonagall looked up and held eye contact with her for what felt like years. Eventually, Hermione blinked, blushed, and looked away, quickly finishing her mug of pumpkin juice before making her excuses to Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

She eased her way along the wall of the Great Hall and out into the corridor. Here, the enormous hour glasses denoting house points stood. Gryffindor was presently nearly tied with Ravenclaw for first. She wondered if anyone had been standing nearby as the glass was drained of a hundred points' worth of rubies and subsequently refilled. She snickered to herself as she opened the main doors of the castle and sat on the outside steps. It was pleasant to be in such a mindset that house points did not seem to be fully ludicrous. Ever since Cedric Diggory had come out of the maze a corpse, Hermione's joy at being in school – at being alive – had been severely diminished. This year, even with Voldemort and his followers gaining power, things had felt more under control. She was glad. Being a prefect with Umbridge around had been stressful, particularly since the whole of the year had been spent specifically disobeying school rules in order to keep a step ahead.

Hermione stretched as she watched the light begin to fade from the school grounds. It was only just now spring, and while the weather had been fantastic the days were still not very long. After a few minutes, she stood up and did a few squats, feeling her muscles stretch as she did so. One thing she had always felt was missing from Hogwarts was field hockey. She had adored playing it at her muggle school, but no one here had any idea how to play and would have found it dead slow and boring compared to quidditch at any rate. Hermione, for her part, found quidditch terrifying; brooms were bad enough, but throwing a ball around while on a broom was far too much. She liked watching it well enough, but she did miss the energy outlet of a team sport.

She made her way back into the castle and toward Professor McGonagall's office, wondering what her lesson would be like today. She felt a little awkward having seen the gentle side of her venerable professor. She felt even more awkward realising that the professor was, of all things, grateful to her for her earlier actions. She did admit feeling a warm glow for having done the right thing – and for having done it for someone for whom she cared – but Dumbledore was right; McGonagall could have hexed Draco into the next geologic age had she chosen to do so, not that she ever would. The professor was the sort who would stand with stone impassiveness while someone questioned everything from her parentage to her Patronus and then, after the offender had at long last exhausted him or herself, she might deign to offer a cutting rejoinder. Only if she was truly angry, though.

It was that knowledge that made Hermione feel as silly as she did, but the other side of it was that she herself knew what it was to stand and allow people to say all manner of vile things to oneself; for her it had always, from the time she was young, been about her hair, bookishness, and teeth. Once at Hogwarts the slurs about her blood were added to that. She had solved the hair and tooth problems in fourth year and was now left her blood and books. She found the vast majority of discussions regarding either irrelevant, but it was still fantastic when Ginny or Harry would get in someone's face and tell them to put it where the sun failed to shine.

That was why she had done it, or at least been angry enough to manifest the explosive magic which had sent Draco across the yard. Sometimes it did not matter if one could take care of oneself; it was nice to know that someone else cared enough to defend one's honour. Coming to her transfiguration professor's door, she smiled. She was glad – if still slightly embarrassed – that Professor McGonagall had taken her inadvertent gesture for what it was meant to be: one of love and caring.


	2. Chapter the Second

**Author's Note: I caught a couple of typographical errors when rereading my previous chapter. If you, dear readers, capture a typo, please inform me so that I might release it into the wild far away from my story. I will not be offended.  
**

Hermione squared her shoulders and requested entry from the painting covering the entrance to Professor McGonagall's office. After a moment it swung open, allowing her entry. She made her way through the brief foyer, nudging open the door which the professor had left cracked for her as was her custom.

The professor saw the movement. "Do come in, Miss Granger. Madam Hooch and I are just finishing discussing our hopes for tomorrow's match."

Hermione smiled. "Harry says that he is pleased with the way the team has been performing during practice. They do not underestimate Hufflepuff, though. Ginny and the other Chasers have been working on some maneuvers and Harry has been working with the Beaters a bit extra."

Hooch beamed at Hermione. "That is lovely to hear. Twenty points to Gryffindor." She clapped Hermione on the back and exited the room with a flourish of black robes, leaving the student gazing fixedly at some distant point, head cocked slightly, with a confused look on her face. She blinked.

"Professor? What was that about?"

McGonagall looked at her solemnly from behind her desk. "Obviously, Madam Hooch appreciates your grasp of the inter-house tournament and its intricacies."

Hermione looked at her skeptically. McGonagall conceded the tiniest of smiles, marginally contracting the muscle just above her left jaw. "I suspect that she was actually complementing your topiary work in the courtyard. Have a seat and a biscuit."

Hermione blushed for what felt like the hundreth time that day and took a ginger newt from the proffered tartan tin. "I did not expect to suddenly become some heroic figure."

"Do you regret your actions?"

Hermione looked up at her professor who was eyeing her worriedly. "Professor, I told you earlier – no regrets. I was and am willing to accept the consequences of my actions. I merely...did not expect applause, points, and ginger newts to be the consequences. It is a wee bit embarrassing."

"A wee bit? You sound as though you have been associating with a vast array of Scots."

"Oh, well, there is this one fascinating woman I am around all of the time. She is enough alone to have the linguistic influence of a Highland Regiment, though; no need for an array." Hermione smiled at her professor.

McGonagall, for her part, blushed a slight pink before coughing and replying. "Yes, well. Quite." She paused. "So, it seems that you have learnt to cast spells wordlessly, Miss Granger."

Hermione cast the professor a sideways glance. "I may have been reading ahead a bit and having a go with summoning my quill silently. I had not really tried it without my wand, though. As I said, my actions in the courtyard were entirely unintentional."

McGonagall stood, came round her desk, and leaned against it directly in front of Hermione, who looked at a bookshelf full of tomes on Transfiguration and Quidditch off to the right.

"My dear Miss Granger, I see no need to discuss the courtyard incident further while we are in here. You know my opinion of your actions and you are embarrassed to discuss it. So, let us focus on your newly demonstrated abilities and see if we cannot transfigure something useful of them." For the second time that day, she gently nudged Hermione's chin upward, forcing eye contact. "Are we agreed?"

Hermione closed her eyes. "Yes, Professor, we are."

"Very well. Let us begin with turning this needle into a matchstick and then reversing the transfiguration, silently." The professor placed the needle on the desk in front of Hermione and moved out of her line of sight, watching her student intently.

Hermione eyed the needle and twitched her wand. It turned into a matchstick. She looked over at her professor.

"Well done, Miss Granger." Hermione was relieved. All vestiges of irritation with her had seemed to vanish from her professor's eyes. McGonagall, for her part, had actually only been able to bring herself to be as irritated as she absolutely had to be in the first place, and had long forgotten that she had actually deducted house points from the woman.

Hermione looked at the matchstick and twitched her wand once more. It turned back into a needle. McGonagall actually smiled at that. Hermione turned a bit pink under her teacher's gaze and wondered why the professor did not smile more often as it looked so good on her. She considered for a moment whether she had actually seen McGonagall smile before, at her or at anyone else.

Hermione was brought out of her reverie by Professor McGonagall waving a hand at her. "Miss Granger? Are you with me?"

Hermione coughed. "Uh, yes. Sorry, Professor."

"Are you quite well?"

"I am; I was just thinking about something."

McGonagall smiled at her again. Hermione very nearly melted into a puddle. The professor gently grasped her student's wand and pulled it out of her hand, setting it on the desk. Hermione blinked at her.

"Miss Granger, would you care to share? You need to concentrate if you are going to do wandless transfiguration."

Hermione blushed. "Sorry, Professor. I was just thinking of whether or not I had seen you smile like that before."

Now it was the professor's turn to blush. "And have you?"

"No, I do not believe so. It is a shame, really."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "And why is that, Miss Granger?"

"You look really pretty when you smile. I mean...it is not as though you are not pretty the rest of the time or anything..." she trailed off, staring at the bookshelf once more as though a Crumple-Horned Snorkack had materialised on a shelf.

McGonagall turned quite red. "Well, thank you Miss Granger. No one has said such a thing to me in quite some time."

That brought Hermione back with a start. "What? Why not?"

The professor tilted her head and looked out of Hermione out of one eye. "Who, my dear, is present at this institution that you believe should be informing me of such?"

Hermione was speechless for a moment. "Uh...that is not what I meant. I mean, I do not want to pry into your personal affairs or anything. I just felt that someone out of the general population would have noticed."

"That is kind of you to say, Miss Granger, but I fear that you are overoptimistic." McGonagall turned and looked out of her office window, gazing down at the Quidditch pitch, arms folded.

Hermione hesitated for a moment before standing and quietly moving over behind the professor. She took the woman's left hand from her right shoulder and pulled gently, turning so they were facing each other. "Professor. I apologise. I did not think it would be such a rare occurance as to hurt you by mentioning it."

McGonagall looked away, out of the window, gazing at some point in the distance. In a move reminiscent of that morning in the Headmaster's office, Hermione gently placed two fingers on McGonagall's left jaw and gently pulled her chin around so their eyes met. "For what little it is worth, Professor, I think that you are beautiful on a variety of levels. I will make an effort to inform you of such more often, with your permission." She leaned forward and kissed her professor on the cheek. "Now, shall I have a go with this needle?"

* * *

Three quarters of an hour later, Hermione had soundlessly transfigured the needle into a matchstick, a teacup into a a dinner plate, and as a finale, a stone into a woolen scarf in Professor McGonagall's clan colours. The professor had positively beamed at the last and hung the scarf on her coatrack next to her travelling cloak. Hermione was a bit spent from the effort and the pair had retired to the professor's private quarters for tea and sandwiches. They were discussing the merits of a study recently published by a team of American wizards working under a well-known Transfiguration Master when the knock came at the door.

Professor McGonagall furrowed her brow as she stood. "Would Mr Weasley or Mr Potter be looking for you?"

"No, Professor. I do not think so."

McGonagall nodded and opened the door, revealing Professor Dumbledore and Madam Hooch. They swept in; Dumbledore cast a silencing spell on the door to prevent eavesdropping and turned to look at the two women he had just interrupted. Madam Hooch paced the floor, wand drawn. McGonagall eyed them both.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with the pair of you? You both look as though You-Know-Who appeared in your bath."

Dumbledore chuckled. "It is not as bad as all that – for me at any rate." He nodded to Hermione. "I am glad to see that you are here, Miss Granger. That makes things much easier for everyone."

Hermione frowned at Dumbledore and then at Madam Hooch, whose furious pace of her pacing was already threatening to wear a groove in the floor of McGonagall's sitting room. McGonagall looked at both of them for a moment, then at Hermione, who looked befuddled. At last, she lost her patience for the Headmaster's dramatic silence.

"Out with it then, Albus!"

Dumbledore coughed and swallowed the bite of Ginger Newt to which he had helped himself. "It seems, my dear Minerva, my dear Miss Granger, that I underestimated the level of corruption at the Ministry. It seems that the Messieurs Malfoy have filed a complaint against the two of you and that Aurors will be coming at midnight to take you both into custody."

McGonagall gasped. Hermione stood, furious. "She did nothing. They may take me if they insist, but the Professor did nothing. They may not take her. I will...I will hex them first!" Her voice was quiet, but her tone brooked no argument.

Madam Hooch ceased her pacing long enough to eye Hermione and exclaim, "Fifty points to Gryffindor!"

McGonagall, for her part, stepped over to Hermione and put her hand on her shoulder. "It shan't come to that. I expect that Professor Dumbledore is here for a reason other than to tell us to enjoy our last sandwiches as free women. Correct, Professor?"

"Indeed, my dear Minerva. With the help of Alastor Moody – who is the kind soul who informed us of your impending arrests – Madam Hooch and I have devised an escape plan; I hope the two of you will find it acceptable."

"Albus, I expect that any plan which does not end with Miss Granger and me in Azkaban is acceptable."

Hermione, wide-eyed, nodded her agreement and waited for the headmaster to continue.

"You will have to go by broom as they are monitoring the Floo network and all apparition in the region. Miss Granger, fear not," he said at the look on her face. "Professor McGonagall is quite accomplished at flying. Miss Granger, you will be in charge of keeping up a Disillusionment Charm in case the Ministry does suspect you are on the move. It is quite lucky that you were born early in the school year, is it not?"

Hermione nodded weakly, unimpressed with the broom plan. Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, my dear. I am going to leave the room with Miss Granger for a moment while you and Madam Hooch cast a Fidelius Charm regarding the location of your manor. Miss Granger will, of course, find out soon enough, but I feel it would be best for her to not know where you are going in the event the two of you are captured. We will be gathering her effects and shall return in ten minutes' time." With that, he swept from the room with Hermione in tow.

He walked quickly; Hermione had to trot to catch him up and lengthen her stride to match his pace as they headed to Gryffindor Tower. "Professor, what should I say to Harry and Ron?"

"Nothing, my dear. I will be shrinking the things you choose to take with you – which shall not be much, I am afraid, as it must appear as though you have not actually left but are in the castle somewhere – and when we return to Professor McGonagall's office you shall write your friends a pleasant note informing them that you are safe."

Hermione eyed him skeptically. He chuckled. "No need to worry, my dear. You will assuredly be telling them the truth."

"With all due respect, Headmaster, you told me not to worry once already today."

Dumbledore laughed aloud. "So I did, my dear Miss Granger. I hope that Professor McGonagall has given you more reason to trust in her that I have for you to trust me."

Hermione considered that for a moment. "Good point, Headmaster."

"I do make them occasionally."

* * *

Upon their return, Dumbledore cast McGonagall and Hooch a look, then nodded. "Indeed. I have not the faintest idea where the manor is. How disconcerting."

Hermione dropped her bag on the floor as she sat down to write Ron and Harry and looked at the three of them. She knew how Fidelius Chams worked, being one of the people with the knowledge of the location of 12 Grimmauld Place, but it had not occurred to her what would happen if one knew something before being shut out with a Fidelius. She must have sat there for a moment with an odd look on her face because suddenly her two professors and the flying instructor were looking at her with concern. She blinked and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Are you quite well, Miss Granger?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"I am, Professor. I was just thinking about what it must be like to suddenly not know something."

"Twenty points to Gryffindor!" shouted Madam Hooch, who was standing very near to Hermione's right. Hermione flinched hard to the left, nearly knocking down Professor McGonagall, who caught her and peered at Hooch.

"Rolanda. That is really quite enough. Even women of such character as Miss Granger have a limit on their nerves, and I do believe she has reached hers."

Hooch had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry. I got carried away."

McGonagall nodded. "Are we ready to be off, then?" She looked at Hermione, who shrugged her assent.

Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Very well, then." He opened the sitting room window and cool night air flowed in. "Accio Minerva's broom!"

The four of them stood in the ensuing silence, waiting for the broom to make its journey from the shed near the Quidditch pitch.

"Ah, that reminds me," said McGonagall. "Accio tartan scarf!"

The broom and the scarf arrived through the window at roughly the same moment. McGonagall tied the scarf Hermione had transfigured earlier tightly round her neck and tucked the ends into the collar of her robes; she then took the broom Dumbledore was offering to her. Hermione quickly finished her note to Ron and Harry and handed it to Dumbledore. She nervously regarded her professor and the broom before summoning her last ounce of Gryffindor courage and throwing her leg over the room. McGonagall mounted behind her.

"Miss Granger, please hold onto the broomstick." The professor reached around Hermione's waist and took hold of the broom just behind Hermione's hands. "Please forgive my intrusion into your personal space."

"Only if you will forgive mine as well, Professor."

McGonagall nodded. "The Disillusionment Charm then, Miss Granger."

Hermione tapped McGonagall, the broom, and finally herself with her wand. She felt the familiar feeling as though there were egg whites running down her body, looked down, and saw nothing.

"Safe journey, my dears," said Dumbledore. "We will take care of everything from here."

"Fly well, Minerva," said Hooch; then, shifting her eyes back and forth, she said, very quietly, "Forty points to Gryffindor for such a lovely Disillusionment."

Hermione giggled for a moment and then felt McGonagall's arms tighten around her as they kicked off. She tried very hard to not twitch too much as they gained altitude over the grounds. Hermione hoped very much that she would see them again as she settled back against her professor. Once over the Forbidden Forest, she spoke.

"Professor, I again apologise for the inconvenience I am causing you. However, I do have to say that if I had to go into hiding with a professor, I am glad that it is you."

McGonagall smiled to herself and turned the broom toward the west.


	3. Chapter the Third

**Author's Note: I have determined upon request that Professor McGonagall likes a nice corned beef on rye with a hint of horseradish and tomatoes. Hermione prefers smoked turkey on twelve-grain bread with hummus, sprouts, tomatoes, cucumbers and a dash of hot sauce. Also, be aware that I may be editing previous chapters for style (but not for content). I find some of my dialogue to have the same grace as a sack of bricks and will be working to improve it. [Edit: Thanks to alix33 for catching a spelling consistency fail.]  
**

McGonagall pulled up slightly on the broomstick and they began to gain altitude as they flew over Hogsmeade. The lights of the village were twinkling below; when she managed to pry her eyes open and look down, Hermione could see a few figures walking around, mostly milling about the outsides of the Three Broomsticks and the Hog's Head. The air was cool but not cold, and the sky was clear. Hermione began to feel dizzy from looking down and looked up instead. When she kept the horizon out of her field of vision, she could not feel the movement of the broom and the ride became almost pleasant. She sighed and leaned back against McGonagall, staring at the stars ahead. The professor was briefly disoriented by the invisible weight pushing back against her, but adjusted and stared straight through the back of Hermione's invisible head at the night.

Hermione kept her gaze fixed about forty-five degrees above the horizon as they flew off toward the west. They remained silent for some time, the lights of Hogmeade receding behind them and leaving them only with the light of the stars and the waxing gibbous moon. Hermione could hear McGonagall's breath just behind her and was going to ask if she needed to pull her hair out of the way when she saw movement above them and to the right. She felt around until her hands came in contact with the professor's forearms and squeezed lightly.

"Professor," she whispered. "There are two people on brooms flying past us about ten meters higher than us and to our right.

McGonagall looked up at the area Hermione had indicated and altered their course as to get behind the figures more quickly. The alteration in course allowed the moonlight to highlight their features, particularly the bubble-gum pink hair of the woman closest to them. McGonagall pulled up on the broom so that they were climbing steeply as they now headed toward the north. After a few minutes, Hermione broke the silence.

"Do you really think Tonks would have arrested us?"

"I suspect so, my dear, and I expect that Mad-Eye sent her on purpose so as to be sure we were treated well. Neither he nor she could very well countermand orders sent from the Minister, so the best they could have done for us had we elected to remain at Hogwarts would be to make sure that our arrests were as painless as possible. However, I do suspect that had she seen us just now, she would not have said anything to her companion."

Hermione considered that for a moment and nodded, then remembered that she was invisible. "That makes sense." She paused for a moment. "Professor?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Are we going north now?"

"We are. I would prefer to remain as far from possible broom traffic as we might."

"Why do you suppose the Ministry had a warrant for you as well?"

"I would say the more important question is this: why is there a warrant for your arrest at all?"

"Well, I have been thinking about that. I remember reading somewhere that punishments for incidental magic are greater once one has reached the age of majority."

"Indeed, however, as the incident took place at the school that law does not apply."

Hermione furrowed her brow and fell silent. The sky had grown cloudy; the light of the moon was only showing through intermittently, and then only through thinner places in the cloud cover. The effect was that the two witches were flying through near-complete darkness with the occasional ethereal glow of moonlight shining upon them. The air was growing colder and more damp as they flew through some low-hanging clouds.

"Miss Granger, you should not concern yourself with the wherefores of our present situation. Albus will send word to us as soon as he has more information. In the interim, it is imperative that we remain undetected and keep our collective wits about us."

"Of course, Professor. It is just that I hate that you have been pulled into this because I was unable to control my emotions for a few moments."

"Miss Granger, we have been over this. You have already admitted that you would have consciously assaulted Mr Malfoy and I have already informed you that I am grateful for the sentiment behind your action. The result of being the beneficiary of your protective sentiments is that I am now in a position where I shall reciprocate. I am not angry with you; you must therefore not be angry with yourself. Do we understand each other?"

Hermione hesitated. She would have preferred to take on the Ministry and the Malfoys alone as she had very little to lose, whereas the professor had her entire career to think about. A nudge to her ribs brought her out of her thoughts.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor. We understand each other."

"You left me for a minute, there."

"Sorry, Professor. I was just thinking about what you said. It is getting a bit cold, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

After a moment, Hermione felt a sensation like an electric blanket was wrapping round each of her limbs, and then her torso. "Professor?"

"A warming charm. Do you feel better?"

"I do. Thank you. I have never cast one before."

"They require no small amount of energy, so I am not surprised you have not experimented with them."

"Will you be able to maintain it? I could do it instead so you can fly."

"You are already maintaining our Disillusionment, Miss Granger. Remember that we feeble old teachers have some magic too." Hermione could hear the smile in her voice but that did not stop her blushing for her presumption; she was glad that the professor could not see her. She felt two invisible arms tighten around her waist for the briefest of moments.

"I was having you on, Miss Granger."

"I know, Professor," Hermione replied absently, looking ahead of them. She no longer had to worry about seeing the ground because that was impossible due to the fog; she could not see the horizon or indeed more than a hundred meters or so. It was beginning to rain.

"I believe we should make a landing until this weather subsides. We are less maneuverable than the ideal in our current state." McGonagall began to descend through the heavy cloud cover. Hermione gripped the broom harder, feeling the wind toss them about. The descent was anything but smooth and the rain was now coming down in torrents. The fog had reduced their visibility to about ten meters. Hermione forced herself to keep her breathing calm so that her professor could concentrate on getting them down safely.

They both saw the tree looming in front of them and neither could do anything about it. With an almighty crash, the broomstick hit one of the swaying branches of the large oak tree, sending its passengers flying. Hermione unconsciously whispered a cushioning charm; as she had been maintaining the Disillusionment for several hours it was not as effective as it could have been but almost certainly prevented her being grievously injured. McGonagall crashed into Hermione's back, causing the air to evacuate itself from both of their lungs in a hurry, and dropped several meters to a limb below. The limb met her midsection and she hung there. Hermione was being suspended by her robes from a branch, but she could feel a limb under her left foot. She brought her right foot to stand next to it, and with the last of her strength, she pulled her wand and severed the branch holding her robes over her head. The branch fell past her and would have pulled her off of the limb if she had not caught hold of a knot protruding from the tree's trunk. As it was, the branch swung around wildly for a minute before crashing to the ground, taking a good portion of her robe with it.

Hermione could barely see through the pouring rain and it was not until a streak of lightning flashed across the sky that she saw her professor draped across the limb below her. She eased herself down to a seated position on the limb on which she had been standing and considered her situation. She was feeling completely drained and the driving rain was not helping at all. The professor appeared to be unconscious and was probably injured. Hermione removed her backpack, dropped it to the ground, and summoned up some measure of Gryffindor strength. She removed her shoes and socks and dropped them as well before getting a good grip on the enormous tree trunk and beginning to climb down.

The bark was slick and Hermione had not climbed a tree in several years; she slid several times and nearly fell once, cutting her foot open in the process, but she made it to the branch where McGonagall lay in short order. She lay her hand on her professor's back and forced herself to remain still for what felt like an eternity before she felt the intake of breath. She sighed in relief and pulled out her wand.

"Levicorpus."Hermione carefully lifted her professor from the tree branch and lowered her to the ground; putting her wand back into her sleeve, she grasped a branch near her feet and swung off of the limb. She dropped the last meter or so to the ground, wincing at the pain in her foot. With the next flash of lightning she found their bags and her shoes; she put the shoes on, forgoing her now-soaked socks, and slung both over her shoulders. She removed what was left of her robes, placed them over McGonagall, and set out to see if she could not find some better shelter nearby. She was rewarded when, not twenty meters from the tree, she found a copse of short trees with shrubbery grown up round them which would make an excellent windbreak. She dropped the bags inside the copse and trotted back to where McGonagall was still laying unconscious in the wet leaves.

Hermione squatted down on her heels and gathered the supine woman in her arms; making sure of her grip, she stood and started for the copse, sliding on wet leaves the whole way but maintaining her balance. Once inside the copse, she tenderly deposited McGonagall on a comparatively dry pile of leaves and tried to cast an Impervius charm on her to keep the rain off, but she found that she was far too exhausted to perform any further magic. Instead, Hermione opened her backpack and dug around until she found a spare set of robes and hung them from some low tree branches in an effort to shelter her professor from the weather. She lay down next to the unconscious woman and curled up to her, wrapping an arm around and placing a hand firmly on her ribs so as to feel if McGonagall ceased breathing.

* * *

Hermione awoke a few hours later with a start. She was soaking wet, but the rain had ceased. The fog was still thick but the twilight was filtering through, casting a pale light on the woman next to her who was inexplicably dry and smiled vaguely, glad that her professor had regained consciousness long enough to dry herself and finally cast an Impervius charm on herself. At that moment the woman began to stir next to Hermione who sat up, droplets of water shaking loose from her hair and bouncing off of the still-reclining woman.

"Professor?"

Hermione was answered with a groan. She pushed herself into a kneeling position and looked over the woman carefully. Her robes were ripped open on the left side of her ribs, and Hermione could see a large purple bruise through the hole. She hastily stood and stumbled over to her backpack; catching up one of the straps, she carefully made her way back over to McGonagall. Her legs felt like rubber and her foot felt like it was on fire. Sinking to her knees once more, Hermione dug around in her backpack until she found the tin of bruise removal paste she had gotten from Fred and George and began rubbing it gently on the woman's ribs. She was rewarded with another groan, but one of a much different timbre.

"Sorry, I did not mean to hurt you. The bruising should be gone in a while."

"Oh, you did not hurt me." It came out almost as a purr. McGonagall coughed. "I merely did not expect to awaken to that."

"I am glad you were able to cast the charms on yourself. You were quite clammy last night. I was worried."

"I did not cast anything on myself. I thought you did."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "I was too exhausted to use magic after I lowered you from the tree. I had to carry you over here myself. I strung my extra robes up over you," she pointed to her soaked robes hanging in the trees "and went to sleep next to you. I only woke up a few minutes before you did."

McGonagall gingerly sat up. "Well, you must have awoken for a bit in the night, or else you cast those charms in your sleep – which, while not unheard of, is highly unusual. You really are a most unusual witch, Miss Granger."

Hermione blushed and eyed her professor's torn robes. "Reparo."

The rip knitted together as though it had not been there. McGonagall smiled at her. "It appears as though you have regained your strength, Miss Granger. Now, I suggest you do the same for your clothing while I dry out our possessions, and then we should see about some breakfast."

Hermione nodded and stood, wincing, and muttered the spells to repair the various tears in her robes. McGonagall eyed her, but said nothing as her student turned and limped off toward the tree. The professor followed after her in an effort to find her broomstick. When Hermione tripped over a root hidden in the leaves, McGonagall leapt after her and caught the woman just before she hit the ground; the momentum caused them to both crash to the forest floor, Hermione resting halfway on her professor.

"You are heavier than you appear, Miss Granger."

Hermione snickered. "I get that every time I go to the doctor's office. Muscle is dense, it seems. Did I hurt you?" Hermione rolled off of her professor and sat up, looking at her with concern.

"No, my dear, but it seems that you are injured." McGonagall gestured to Hermione's left foot.

"That? Oh...it is nothing."

"Accio Miss Granger's left shoe!" The shoe untied itself and came sailing into McGonagall's hand, revealing to her the red stain of water-diluted blood on the lining. "Nothing, Miss Granger? Show me your foot."

Reluctantly, Hermione extended her foot toward McGonagall and laid it in her lap. The woman gasped when she saw the gash extending from the ball of her student's foot to the midsole. "Miss Granger, whatever did you do?"

"I had to climb down the tree to get to you and it was slick. I cut my foot a little."

"A little!" McGonagall grumbled under her breath as she muttered a healing spell and transfigured some leaves into a clean white bandage which she wrapped around Hermione's foot. "You sit here while I go find the broomstick. No," she said when Hermione began to protest, "sit, or I shall have you in a body-bind curse before you can say Quidditch."

Hermione eyed her professor, whose accent had slipped into a fairly thick Highland brogue near the end, and elected to sit. She could not quite understand what the woman had said to her, but she understood the tone well enough. She sat, arms folded, and halfheartedly glared at her professor who smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

"Good girl. I will be back in a short."

McGonagall successfully found the broom and mended it; miraculously, it only suffered from a minor crack near the front of the shaft and some splintering on the leading end. She returned to Hermione.

"Did you cast a cushioning charm during the collision?"

Hermione blinked at her. "Yes, I think so."

"Wandless, then?"

"Yes, I think so." Hermione was not sure where the professor was going.

"Even after keeping up the Disillusionment for several hours?"

"Uh, yes, Professor. Why?"

"Remind me to never irritate you sufficiently to cause you to challenge me to a duel. I expect I would lose." McGonagall left the broom hovering and stepped over next to Hermione. Before she knew it, the professor had scooped her up. Hermione let out a small squeal of surprise. McGonagall smirked at her. "You are not the only one who is denser than she looks, Miss Granger. On you go." She set the student on the broom and mounted behind her. "Accio bags!" She shrank Hermione's backpack and put it inside her own, slinging the latter over her shoulders. "Now, Miss Granger, I do believe we are safely out of range of any humans, but please be ready to cast a Disillusionment again if you see anyone."

"Yes, Professor."

"Very well. Off we go, then. I could do with some bangers and mash at this point."


	4. Chapter the Fourth

**Author's Note: Oh, look. Fiction.**

After a successful breakfast at a pub in a small village near Inverness, the two witches set off on the final leg of their journey to McGonagall's estate. Hermione was growing quite weary of being on the broom, to the point where she had ceased to be terrified – or even mildly afraid – as she now merely wished to walk some distance on her own two legs. She failed to stifle a yawn, and the professor chuckled quietly behind her.

"Believe it or not, Miss Granger, I too grow tired of flying."

"I am sorry for complaining, Professor."

"Miss Granger," McGonagall replied sternly, "you are not to spend our entire time in exile apologising for yourself; do I make myself quite clear?"

"Yes, Professor; sorr...I mean, yes. You are quite clear."

"Good. I expect that carrying on a conversation with you would become quite tiresome if you felt compelled to apologise for your every sentiment."

A brief silence passed between them before Hermione spoke.

"I am a bit nervous. I tend to apologise excessively when I am nervous."

"Why are you nervous, my dear?"

"I feel somewhat out of my element. I am on a broom on the way to Merlin-knows-where to go into hiding for blasting a fellow student into a wall." As an afterthought she added, "With you."

McGonagall was somewhat taken aback. "I was not aware that I make you uncomfortable, Miss Granger."

Hermione chuckled. "Professor, you are one of the most intimidating people on the planet. You make _everyone_ a wee bit uncomfortable, I would say." She squeezed her professor's forearm gently. "However, my nerves are mostly because of the situation and because it has been so long since I have been anywhere but with hundreds of people."

"Fair enough, Miss Granger. Although, I must disagree that I am all that intimidating."

"Oh, Professor. I think you know just how intimidating you are and in fact do your best to cultivate it. I remember my first day in your class even if you do not."

"I in fact do, Miss Granger. Touché."

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Would it trouble you greatly to call me Hermione for the next little while, given that we shan't be at school?"

"I suppose not, but I had planned to continue your lessons. If you do not mind, of course."

Hermione considered that for a moment. "Of course I do not mind; I would have been studying at any rate. Would you mind, then, addressing me as Hermione when we are not working and as Miss Granger when we are? Is that a fair compromise?"

"Indeed, it is. I suppose it would therefore be fair for you to address me as..." Hermione cut her off.

"No, Professor. I do not believe I could address you by your given name."

"Why is that?"

"Uh...I am not sure. It would be like addressing Mr and Mrs Weasley by their given names."

"You do not?"

"I do not."

"Very well, then. But I retire under protest and do not promise to not bring the subject up for discussion in the future."

"Fair." Hermione relaxed back into McGonagall, who unconsciously rested her chin on the woman's shoulder as she flew on.

"We shall be there in less than an hour, Miss Gr...Hermione."

Hermione smiled. "It will be nice to be on the ground."

"Indeed."

The wind shifted around to the east; with the tailwind, they made good progress and landed on the lawn of McGonagall's manor within the half-hour; being soaked to the skin by the accompanying rain was the price they paid. The professor steadied her student – whose legs were a bit wobbly from lack of use and relative cold – as she gazed at the structure.

"Welcome to Leòmhann," McGonagall proudly said.

"It is beautiful."

"You ought to see it in the sunlight. Let us get you inside and warm." She turned to walk into the house.

Hermione nodded. She was cold, tired, wet, and hungry. Her foot still hurt; McGonagall had cast a pain relief spell after breakfast and mended her foot a bit, but Hermione suspected that she had a splinter yet buried in her foot. She grimaced at the thought of removing it.

McGonagall looked back when Hermione did not follow and eyed her. "Does your foot still hurt, dear?"

"It is not bad."

"That is not what I asked." McGonagall closed the distance between them swiftly, swept Hermione up in her arms, and made for the house as the rain grew heavier and the wind stronger.

"I can walk," Hermione weakly protested.

"Irrelevant." McGonagall carefully negotiated the steps to her front door which opened as they reached it. Hermione clung to the professor's neck and shivered as McGonagall made her way across the entrance hall and into what appeared to be an informal lounge. She deposited Hermione on the sofa and tucked a nine patch quilt around the shaking woman. She inspected the fireplace, opening the flue before summoning some wood and starting a fire. Turning back to her student, she paused with a thoughtful look on her face before summoning what looked to Hermione to be enough potions to keep the hospital wing running for several months, even taking into account Harry's regular patronage.

McGonagall read the labels on the various bottles, finally finding the one she wanted and handing it to Hermione as she summoned a set of flannel pyjamas for her student.

"Drink this and put these on. I know we could dry your robes but they need further repair, and I expect you will find the flannel more comfortable at any rate. I shall return in five minutes' time." With that, she swept from the room.

Hermione found that McGonagall had cast a warming charm on the pyjamas prior to handing them over and putting them on she was reminded of donning clothes straight from the dryer at home. She snuggled into the nine patch and took the potion she had been handed, grimacing slightly at the taste. It was cherry-flavoured. Hermione really hated false cherry flavouring. Looking about her, she saw an old, elaborately bound copy of _To the Lighthouse_ on the side table to the left of the sofa. Hermione smiled, pleased that her hostess would read such a work, and reached for the book. Running her hands over the cover, she saw embossed near the bottom the publisher and realised that this was in fact from one of the original runs from Hogarth Press. She opened the cover and found an inscription written in a strong, slanting hand on the endpaper:

_4 October 1939_

_My Dear Minerva:_

_You will find that I managed to convince my Aunt to sign her autograph to the title page. It took some doing; you know how she is. I hope your birthday is as wonderful as you and will see you for mine. Congratulations on making the Quidditch team; I do hope you will forgive my unwavering dedication to Ravenclaw's cause, lost though it may now be._

_ Your Angelica_

Hermione gaped. She turned the page, and sure enough, there was Virginia Woolf's signature just below the title. She turned back to the endpaper and stared. Professor McGonagall had been friends with Angelica Bell?

"She was a seventh year when I was in my first. A staircase changed while she was on it carrying quite a load of books and I caught her when she lost her balance. We were inseparable thereafter, until she married her husband."

"Were the rest of them all Muggles?"

"I am not convinced Virginia was a Muggle, but she never gave any blatant signs otherwise. Unfortunately, as you could surmise, I was never able to know her as an adult."

Hermione nodded, lost in thought.

"_Night and Day_" is actually my favourite," said McGonagall, moving round the end of the sofa to sit. Hermione moved over to make room, and smiled.

"_Orlando_ is mine, but _Night and Day_ is a close second."

"Angelica gave me this one because we had spent the holiday in the Hebrides. It was a lovely summer." She sighed wistfully. "It was the last time for more than fifty years that my life would be utterly without complication."

"It must have been amazing to be friends with them."

McGonagall smiled at her. "Not any more amazing than it is to be friends with you, my dear."

Hermione blushed and mentally flailed for a subject change. McGonagall eyed her student and wondered to herself why a woman who was so forthcoming with complements would be so thrown by having them returned. She resolved that she would find out about that while they were in their exile and perhaps boost Hermione's self-esteem a bit. Merlin knew she deserved to have a wee bit of an ego. McGonagall blinked, realising that Hermione was speaking to her.

"I am sorry, Hermione; I was a bit distracted."

Hermione smiled. "I was just asking what it is like to live in such an enormous house on your own."

"Oh, I do not, most of the time. My cousin and her husband live here with their three children. They are presently on holiday in Majorca and will be returning in a month's time. If we are not sorted by then I shall have to owl them with the location of their own house." McGonagall chuckled, then looked over at Hermione, who was looking at her with a familiar look in her eyes. It struck McGonagall that she had seen that look somewhere before, but could not quite place it.

"Is it nice, then, to have your family about you?"

"Aye, it is. The house is large enough that we do not trip over each other, but having them here does stop me being lonesome. And I do so enjoy the children in the summer. I am teaching the eldest some advanced flying maneuvers so that she might be on the Quidditch team when she comes to Hogwarts."

"That is planning ahead. I do hope she is sorted into Gryffindor; it would be a shame to have your plan backfire." Hermione snickered.

At that moment, a silvery hawk appeared in front of them and spoke in Madam Hooch's voice.

"Minerva, Miss Granger, I assume you have made it successfully to the estate. Lucius Malfoy is attempting to bring Miss Granger up on charges of assault and battery. We haven't word yet on what exactly the charges are against you, Minerva, other than aiding in Miss Granger's escape. He does seem after your job, though. Mad-Eye says to both of you, 'constant vigilance' – surprise. More information when we have it."

The patronus dissolved and the two women looked at each other.

"Well, that was certainly enlightening," said Hermione, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

McGonagall snickered. "Rolanda meant well."

Hermione sighed and slumped over into the arm of the sofa. McGonagall peered at her for a moment before reaching over and pulling the woman into her lap.

"We _will_ get through this successfully, Miss Granger – Hermione. Lucius Malfoy is not the worst wizard to come after me, and he is only going through the Ministry. I shan't allow anything adverse to happen to you; I will in fact curse all of the Malfoys into the nearest loch first. And before you say a word about my career – believe me when I say that your safety is more important than teaching Transfiguration. Fear not, my dear."

Hermione was taken aback by her professor's actions and words; she had not been held in someone's lap since she was a small child. She believed the professor, though – as well as she could, at any rate – and leaned her head on McGonagall's shoulder.

"Thank you."

McGonagall gave her a squeeze and said, "Right, then. About your foot."

Hermione grimaced. "I rather enjoy the floral addition?"

"Nay, madam." McGonagall gave her a wry smile, stood, and deposited Hermione back on the couch with the utmost care. "I am going to fetch some tea and biscuits. Do not move."

Hermione saluted at McGonagall's intimidating stare and giggled a bit. McGonagall snorted and left the room, leaving Hermione to consider her professor's friendship with – of all people – Virginia Woolf's niece. She picked up the book and reread the inscription. "Your" Angelica? "As wonderful as you"? Hermione raised an eyebrow and muttered to herself, "That's a bit gay."

"What was that, dear?" McGonagall returned to Hermione's side bearing a silver tray laden with ginger newts and tea.

"Oh, um, I was just thinking of what it would have been like to be even tangentially associated with the Bloomsbury Group."

McGonagall laughed. "It does sound a good deal more glamourous now, I am sure, but to Angel it was just her mother and her aunt mucking around with all of their friends."

"Yes, of course, and writing classic literature on the weekends." Hermione drily replied.

McGonagall smiled. "Well, remember that Virginia was essentially self-publishing most of her work. She was not thinking of herself that way, unfortunately."

Hermione nodded, trying to think of a way to get the professor to talk more about her friendship with Angelica Bell. She eyed the page, looking for inspiration. "You made the Quidditch team at the beginning of your third year? What position were you?"

"For my third year I was a Chaser, and a Beater thereafter. In fact, if you will indulge me, I have a tale you might appreciate." She paused and waited for Hermione to nod her assent. Smiling, the professor went on.

"During a game versus Slytherin in my fifth year, I chanced to come into rather a rivalry with Abraxas Malfoy, who was a Beater as well. We spent a good part of the game hitting the bludgers at each other..."

Hermione listened raptly as McGonagall told the story, imagining her professor diving to avoid the bludgers, gasping when she described standing on her broom to get her full body weight behind a hit, and finally laughing hysterically when she ended the story with a description of Draco's grandfather being hit hard enough that he sailed off of his broom and into the stands. McGonagall shifted her eyes, lowered her voice and conspiratorially whispered to Hermione that she may or may not have used some magic to achieve that effect, which caused her student to erupt in such a fit of giggles that she did not notice when McGonagall summoned the seven centimeter splinter from her foot.

As Hermione subsided, she noticed McGonagall dressing her foot with a bandage soaked in a mysterious violet potion. "What is that?"

"Just something to help the wound heal."

"You are leaving the splinter after all?"

McGonagall smiled and pointed to the bloody splinter resting on a towel next to the myriad potion vials. "I pulled it while you were laughing."

Hermione eyed her professor. "You are a sneaky one."

"One does not get to be Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts without a wee bit of cunning." McGonagall stood and kissed Hermione on top of her head. "Can I do anything else for you?"

"No, thank you." Hermione yawned.

McGonagall smiled. "Then, I shall take you off to bed."

Hermione coloured slightly as McGonagall lifted her from the sofa, her arms going round the professor's neck. _What are you, twelve? That is not what she meant._ Hermione shook her head at herself.

"What was that, dear?"

"Oh, um, I was just thinking that I could probably walk, but you probably will not let me."

"Your deductive skills are as sharp as ever."

Before she could stop herself, Hermione reached up and kissed McGonagall on her jaw. "Thank you for taking care of me." She snuggled into the woman's neck.

McGonagall, for her part, was suddenly made aware of something which she had not previously considered. _Oh my._ "You are quite welcome, my dear," she replied as she mounted the stairs.


	5. Chapter the Fifth

**A/N: Ask and ye shall receive, JustABitBored.**

"Oh dear, I really must apologise for my housekeeping."

The bedroom's contents were covered in a thin layer of dust from floor to curtains. Minerva McGonagall blushed a bit as the woman in her arms snickered.

"Well, at least now I will have something with which to blackmail you in the future: the impeccably clean Professor McGonagall does not dust her spare bedroom while she is away at Hogwarts for nine months. Oh, the humanity!" With this pronouncement, Hermione mock fainted, going limp in the professor's arms and laying a hand dramatically across her forehead.

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "I suppose you have a point. Scourgify!" she rendered the bedroom spotless.

Hermione came to and grinned at her professor. "You are quite gallant in not dropping me to the floor for my cheek."

McGonagall smiled wryly. "Only because you are injured."

Hermione snickered and eyed her bearer. "Oh, indeed? I think you just like carrying me about; I do not believe I have taken a step since we have arrived."

The professor blushed and hastened to the bed, setting Hermione on the tartan duvet quickly, but gently. She beat a hasty retreat, backing out of the room as she said, "Let me know if you need anything, Hermione – just send a patronus – I will be just down the hall; it's been rather a long day, has it not? Pleasant dreams, my dear." With that, she shut the door, sagging against it. Hermione, for her part, dissolved into a fit of mirth on the other side of the door, a good part of her suspicions confirmed.

Grinning, she snuggled into the comfortable bed and considered her next move.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was not a woman who panicked easily, or at all, really. However, she had just now come damn near to having a full-on meltdown in front of Hermione. Leaning against the door, she continued her slide to the floor and heaved a great sigh as she landed with a thump. She vaguely detected giggles on the other side of the door and snorted to herself. "Finds this humourous, does she?" Resolving to maintain something resembling dignity, she transformed, stretched all four of her legs, and sauntered down the hall with the aloof appearance only attainable by felines.

Once in the safety of her bedroom, she jumped onto her bed and morphed back, causing a great cloud of dust to rise around her. Sighing, she scourgified the room and opened the curtains with a wave of her hand. She stared out onto the Scottish moor as she contemplated her predicament.

Hermione's age was not at all an issue, she thought, nor, especially, was her status as a student given that it would likely be some time – if ever – before they returned to Hogwarts. McGonagall was not so thick as to not notice Hermione's consistent, though subtle, flirtations, so that was obviously not an issue.

What, then, was the issue? The answer eluded her, and she eventually fell asleep atop her covers, dreaming of summers in Bloomsbury, winters in the highlands, and flying through the clouds with Hermione in her arms.

Hermione, snuggled up in her betartaned bed, was having a much easier time of things and only regretted that she did not have Ginny to talk to about this latest development. Hermione had confessed to her friend some months earlier that she did not fancy Ron at all – nice though he was – and when Ginny pressed her on the issue, Hermione swore her to utmost secrecy; Ginny swore on her broom that she would never tell, casting a jinx on it herself, and Hermione finally took her up to the top of the Astronomy tower and whispered the name.

Looking back, Hermione mused that the high level of precaution may have been the product of teenage paranoia, but nonetheless appreciated Ginny's commitment to keeping the secret. Ginny, for her part, had snickered and muttered something about how they would produce children whose brains would require their own post code and hugged Hermione hard.

Hermione now smiled at the memory as she thought about what to do next. McGonagall clearly was aware of what her intentions were, and hopefully would not waffle too much on the logistics. She was prepared to forgo the rest of her time at Hogwarts – she could pass her NEWTs right this moment if need be – and that was the only real obstacle which came to mind. Of course, that assumed they would return to wider society in a reasonable amount of time, and who knew whether that would happen.

Deciding that it was far too much trouble to consider logistics at that point, Hermione closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of heather, tartan quilts, and flying through the clouds wrapped in McGonagall's arms.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall awoke with a start, briefly disoriented. As her mind cleared and she realised she was in her bed, in her house, she briefly relaxed, only to remember that not only was she on the run from the Ministry, she was on the run with Miss Granger – Hermione – who had hexed Mr Malfoy into a garden wall to protect her honour. She grimaced at the implications and sighed. There was nothing for it but to wait for instructions.

Letting the immediate problem lie, she smiled as she gazed out her bedroom window. Hermione was growing into a true Gryffindor. For seven years, Minerva and Filius had been engaged in a good-natured feud over their student; he was convinced that she had bribed the Sorting Hat – with what, he never said. What could an ancient enchanted hat possibly want?

The dead truth of it was, she thought to herself, stretching her arms and back whilst hunting through her wardrobe, that Hermione was a damn sight more courageous than anyone who had come through Hogwarts in a century, if not longer. If she had to be honest about it – and if Minerva McGonagall was anything, it was honest, particularly with herself – she was not convinced she would have done what Hermione had, and certainly not with the alacrity with which she had faced the potential consequences.

McGonagall withdrew from her wardrobe, having found her favourite flannel tartan shirt and a pair of heavy pants. Indeed, she thought, Hermione had been quite cavalier about her probable punishment. Of course, a certain amount of it may well have merely been bravado, but what she could not quite put her finger on is why Hermione would blow Draco Malfoy across the courtyard for mere words, and against a teacher, no less. Hermione's explanation to Dumbledore echoed in her thoughts, but there yet was something about the whole thing which was confounding, to say the least.

With a start, she remembered her final thoughts as she had drifted off to sleep. The recollection shook her such that she became entangled in her pants legs as she attempted to pull them on which resulted in her hopping several steps sideways before coming to rest abruptly and uncomfortably against the side of her bed, her face pressed awkwardly into the footboard.

"Oh, Merlin. Was I _flirting_ with her?" she said aloud as well as one can when one's jaw is jammed against an oaken edifice. She slithered to the floor, disentangled herself from her pants, and lay staring at her ceiling. "What must she think of me?"

An inner voice spoke up and snickered, "She thinks you are the hottest thing since Fiendfyre and wants you desperately, that's what."

McGonagall considered the relative wisdom of her inner voice. Snarky though it was, she had to concede the point at least a bit. Hermione was clearly flirting with her. The problem was that she still had not the slightest idea how to proceed, given that there were a dozen potential ethics violations due to her position as a teacher. On the other hand, she and Hermione were presently on a more or less first name basis, in her house, having fled Hogwarts in the bloody night, dramatically crashing and all, because Hermione had seen fit to blast a fellow student.

McGonagall felt a headache coming on. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed, inspecting the crown moulding until she heard a knock at her door. She sat up. "Enter."

Hermione stepped tentatively into the room and looked around. "Professor?"

"Over here, on the other side of the bed."

"You are on the floor."

"Well spotted, Miss Granger," McGonagall replied drily.

Hermione blinked. "Yes, well...why?"

McGonagall thought about the relative wisdom of telling the woman about her wardrobe malfunction, but elected to keep that to herself. "Calisthenics."

"Oh, good. I thought I heard a bit of a commotion and a crash."

"Really? I did not hear anything."

Hermione smirked. "Indeed." She extended her hand to the professor, who allowed herself to be pulled up. Hermione did not stop there, though. She pulled with enough force that McGonagall overbalanced, and it came to pass that Hermione was holding the woman in a dip not unlike that at the end of a tango. Hermione smiled down at her surprised look until the professor collected herself.

"Hermione, I think we may need to have a discussion."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed."

"Very well." Hermione spun her up and away before spinning her back in and whispering in her ear. "Let us talk."

McGonagall blushed. "You have become rather bold, madam."

"I am on the run and potentially facing a term in Azkaban. I see no merit in beating about the bush."

"A fair point."

"I thought you would like it."

"Shall we go out into the garden?"

Hermione offered a sweeping bow toward the door. "Lead on."

* * *

McGonagall cast about for something to say as she lead Hermione down the stairs and out the front door. She had not actually expected Hermione to take her up on talking about their present situation, and while she had not exactly not seen it coming – had she not? – the reality of having a discussion with one's student in one's garden of a spring morning about the fact that said student was openly _flirting_, of all things, with oneself, and that one did not in fact dislike it...

"That is quite enough!"

"Sorry?"

McGonagall coughed, then blushed. "Er...I do apologise. It seems that I am talking to myself."

"Ah. Very well," replied Hermione nonchalantly.

Having reached a point in the garden, McGonagall transfigured a trumpet vine into a hammock-like seat and sat herself in it, looking at the distant mountains, still a bit pink. Hermione regarded her for a moment before perching herself on a nearby boulder.

A silence stretched between them. As the seconds ticked by, McGonagall began to feel more awkward and less sure of her authority over...well, anything, really, at this point. One could hardly fall back behind the bulwark of academic authority once one had been carried, unconscious, by one's student and then invited said student to address one by one's given name.

At length, Hermione cleared her throat. "Professor?"

McGonagall stared at her for a moment. "You have caught me at a loss, Hermione."

"Very well; I will start then, with your permission, of course."

The professor eyed the student with some trepidation before making a gesture of acquiescence.

Hermione smiled. "Very well. I assume that we are having this discussion because I like you" McGonagall spluttered a bit at her abruptness "and you either reciprocate but are unsure of how to proceed, do not reciprocate but are unsure how to tell me so because of our situation, or do not reciprocate and wish to tell me so. Might you then, Professor, tell me which of the three it is so that we may proceed?"

McGonagall blinked. "Uh..." she stopped and composed herself. It would not do to make extraneous noises at this point. She looked at Hermione. "If you 'like' me as you say, why will you not call me by my given name?"

Hermione gave her a wry look, somewhat abashed. "I am not sure. Potentially because I feel like if I call you by your given name, it will cross that boundary I have set."

"What boundary?"

"The boundary which prevents my jumping on you, sweeping you up in my arms, and kissing you senseless."

McGonagall felt a little lightheaded, but maintained herself. This was perhaps the most ludicrous conversation she had ever had with a student. In her discomfort, she fell back on formality "Is this not a bit sudden, Miss Granger?"

"Indeed not. I have liked you for the last several years, Professor. I do not hex in defense of crushes."

McGonagall crossed her arms and pinched the bridge of her nose, allowing her hand to cover the lower half of her face.

"Professor, may I ask you a question?"

"I am not entirely sure I want to hear the question, but I am not sure I can stop you."

Hermione eyed her. "Would you mind telling me how you feel about me?" McGonagall let out a strangled noise; Hermione continued, ignoring it. "Because, if you do not reciprocate, I will let the matter drop and never mention it again."

McGonagall opened her eyes; she had not been aware of squeezing them shut. "You would?"

"Indeed."

"How?"

"I am not sure just yet, but suffice it to say that your personal comfort is paramount, and I really hate sitting here watching you squirm, Professor."

The professor stopped squirming and straightened her shoulders. "Shall we go over all of the reasons why I should not reciprocate?"

"I believe we both know them."

"Quite."

"Indeed."

Stalemated, they regarded each other for a long moment.

"Miss Granger, I..."

A familiar silvery hawk swooped in between them; Madam Hooch's voice whispered from it. "Minerva, I am at the Wizengamot with Albus; slipped outside to send this. Miss Granger has been indicted on attempted murder, of all bloody things. The Minister is clearly acting under the Imperius Curse – his eyes are more glassy than normal; you should see it. Well, actually you should not, because then you would be arrested for conspiracy to commit.

Oh, Min, you two must be so careful! Albus passed me a note telling me to send this straight away, and that you should make preparations for leaving Britain. He will let you know if and when you have to leave. Oh...they are coming out now. I have to go."

The hawk dissipated. Hermione and McGonagall stared at each other. Hermione cleared her throat.

"I believe that our student/teacher relationship is no longer official by any stretch of the imagination."

"Quite."

"Professor?"

"Call me Minerva."

"I canno..."

Rolling her eyes, McGonagall cut her off. "Hermione. Call me Minerva. Please." She looked at her former student imploringly.

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Wha...Oh!" She blushed, and stood up from the rock. Three steps brought her to within half a meter of the professor. Dropping to one knee, she took McGonagall's hand in hers; bringing it to her lips, she murmured, "It is my honour, Minerva."


	6. Chapter the Sixth

**A/N: Chapter the Fourth and one Half is now Chapter the Fifth, with some additions. If you have not yet read it, you ought.**

"You said 'several years.'"

Hermione looked up from the book on long-distance magical transport she was reading. "I did indeed."

"Define 'several'?"

Letting the book drop to her lap, Hermione pondered a moment. "Do you remember when I returned the time turner to you at the end of my third year?"

Minerva looked at her askance. "You do not mean to say it has been that long. You were but a wee lass?"

Hermione smirked. "I was fourteen. You were my first crush."

"Who was the second?"

"No one as of yet."

"Indeed?" Minerva turned toward the young woman. "That is quite the commitment of a crush."

"As I may or may not have made clear, my feelings have somewhat progressed." Hermione smiled.

"You will forgive me if I am somewhat taken aback."

"I forgive you, but I do not understand why you are. I have spent the last few years assuming that it was quite obvious and hoping that it was not. And, I told you days ago that you are pretty."

"Hermione, it never occurred to me to think of you as anything other than my favourite student until three days ago. That is to say, approximately six hours after you told me that you think me" she coughed, "pretty. So I have not had time to give the idea of you harbouring affection for me a great deal of thought. Likewise, I have had even less time to give the idea of harbouring affection for you – beyond that of being my favourite student – a great deal of thought."

"I am your favourite student?"

"Are you daft?"

Hermione blushed. "It is one thing for everyone to call me your pet. It is yet another for you to say such a thing."

"'Pet' is not the term I would use." Minerva hesitated. "Hermione..." she stopped and pondered, stood and moved to sit next to the attentive young woman on the sofa. She took Hermione's hand and began again. "Hermione, as you may have surmised, I have not been in a relationship for some time, and never has the age gap been quite so much, and never has the woman been so recently my student."

"Well, in fairness, that does not really say much."

"Point taken – previously, the record was ten years; does that suffice for accuracy?"

"Go on." Hermione smiled at her wryly.

"At any rate, Hermione, I have cultivated something of a mental wall over the years which prevents my thinking of older students that way. That you have made such short work of it says a great deal." Minerva took a breath and studied the hand she held in hers.

"Are you certain that you are not presently suffering from some variant on Stockholm Syndrome?"

Minerva blinked and stared at Hermione for a moment before noticing the twinkle in the latter's eyes. She snickered. "Indeed not, my dear. Indeed not."

Hermione smiled at that. "Good to know. Might I ask precisely how I broke down that mental wall?"

"Well, throwing Mr Malfoy into a brick one certainly helped."

A pause.

Hermione smiled and sighed. "What now?"

"Well, I suggest we begin seriously considering a method of escape from Britain."

Hermione held up the magical transport book. "We cannot apparate across oceans as the distance is too long, and we would have to go somewhere one of us has been previously. The latter applies to portkeys as well. And I have to say that I am not interested in attempting to fly across an ocean on a broom."

"Nor am I."

"We could try muggle transport."

"Muggle transport?"

"Would you find that problematic?"

"Aside from not knowing the first thing about it, I suppose not."

"We could fly somewhere. It should not be hard to make you a muggle passport. I have mine; we would just have to copy it and put your name and photograph on it."

Minerva considered that for a moment. "Yes, we could do that. But where shall we go? And should we really travel under our own names?"

"Why not?"

Minerva eyed her. "You do know that the Ministry for Magic has contacts in the muggle government, do you not?"

Hermione blinked. "I did not. Scrapping that plan, then."

They fell silent for a minute, Minerva absently running her thumb over Hermione's hand.

"To be honest, I have not the faintest idea about how to get out of the Highlands. They could have tracking charms on our magical signatures, and it would be far too easy to find us anywhere in Europe even if we managed to apparate ahead of them..." Minerva trailed off, thinking.

Hermione ran her free hand through her hair. Unbeknownst to either of them, their expressions of concentration were identical. She cocked her head as a sudden thought came to her. "Minerva...how much context does one have to have in order to charm a portkey?"

"What do you mean?"

"How much of an area would I have to remember? A city block? A room? A view?"

"Theoretically, just a view."

"Theoretically?"

"Indeed."

Hermione chewed on her lip for a minute. "There must be a way to test that theory. I would rather not get dropped somewhere random."

Minerva eyed her, conjured a blindfold over Hermione's eyes, then swept her up, carrying her out of the study.

"Wait, what? Where are we going?"

"I am not telling you."

"Why not?"

"Wait a bit."

Silence.

"Is it not a bit early in our relationship for this sort of thing?"

"What?"

"Blindfolding me and carrying me off to do Merlin-knows-what to me. We have not even kissed yet."

Minerva stopped abruptly and eyed the woman in her arms, who was smiling innocently from under her blindfold. "Madam, you will halt your insinuations. My intentions are nothing but honourable."

Hermione giggled. Minerva snorted and continued on her journey. She turned round several times, then apparated.

Hermione gagged a little. "You could have warned me; side-along makes me ill even when I see it coming."

"I will keep that in mind for the future."

"Are you planning to blindfold me and apparate often?"

Minerva removed the blindfold. "Only if you are good." She set Hermione on her feet; the latter blinked a couple of times, eyes adjusting to the light.

"Where are we?"

"If I told you, it would potentially compromise this experiment. Look at the wall."

The wall in question was covered in Quidditch team posters and photographs of sundry locations, all of which looked Mediterranean. Minerva prodded Hermione in the shoulder. "Had a good look?"

Hermione nodded.

"Very well; we are going to apparate." With a crack, they were back in the study. Minerva went to her desk and pointed out a quill. "Make a portkey to our most recent location, please, dear."

"Dear?"

"Yes, dear, dear." Minerva quirked an eyebrow. Hermione snickered.

"Portus." Hermione reached for the quill, but Minerva beat her to it, vanishing.

Hermione gasped. What if she had failed to make the portkey properly? A crack followed by Minerva's smile told her that she had succeeded, but she growled in response. "You, madam, shall not do such a thing again without my accompanying you." She crossed the room and poked Minerva in the chest, looking as menacing as possible.

Minerva, for her part, merely looked down her nose at her former student. "Oh, shan't I?"

"You shan't. Merlin only knows what might have happened to you."

"Which is precisely why I went alone."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Because leaving me here alone would have been better than what might have occurred had I failed?"

"Indeed. You are a resourceful woman."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. You win this time. So it worked?"

"It did indeed. Now, what was the potential place you had in mind which spurred this experiment?"

"Well...Texas."

"Texas?"

"Texas."

"As in John Wayne and desert?"

"John Wayne?"

"An American actor."

"Oh. I do not think I know about him. I do not remember desert."

"Why Texas?"

"Because it is the only place I have been which is not on the European continent."

"Fair." Minerva paused, looking thoughtful. "Texas, though?"

"Why not?"

"Well..." she trailed off. "Well, I suppose I cannot think of any reason in particular. When were you there?"

"One of my cousins received her doctoral degree from a university there, and we went to the ceremony. I was about four."

"And what is it that you remember, exactly?"

"There was this really amazing library."

Minerva mumbled to herself, "Of course it was a library."

"It was not as amazing as Hogwarts, but it was nonetheless lovely."

Minerva sank down into the sofa and beckoned Hermione to join her. "I have to admit that I have never been one to flee."

"That does not surprise me in the least."

"It does not?"

"Minerva, you are one of the most courageous human beings I have ever met. Of course it does not surprise me."

"Very well. My point is that I am not sure how to organise such an escape."

"Well, I have a good amount of muggle currency in my bank account, and given the present exchange rate, we should be able to get plenty American currency. Then we can find somewhere to stay, have a pint and a meal, and consider our next move from there. We should apparate to somewhere in Sussex so that I can take the money out."

"Why Sussex? We would be found."

"Not for a few minutes, and it would be better to get it there; I have family there, and the Ministry might therefore think I am still in Britain, or on the continent. Besides which, getting money in America would instantly alert anyone watching my bank account."

"A fair point."

"And we would need to time it so that it is fairly early in America. It would not do to port into a crowd of Muggles in a library."

Minerva eyed Hermione appraisingly and stood, holding out her hand. Hermione took it. "We are going to apparate," said Minerva, before doing so.

They appeared at the top of a mountain, looking over a sun-dappled valley filled with heather. The smell, carried on the wind, drifted up to them. The sun shone through fluffy clouds. Hermione gasped at the sight.

"Why are we here?"

Minerva turned to and took Hermione in her arms, feeling the woman's solid, curvaceous body against her. Hermione's arms went around her neck. They remained like that for just a moment before Minerva turned a bit to the left, bringing Hermione into a dip, and kissing her soundly. After some undetermined amount of time, they broke the kiss, resting their foreheads together. Minerva stood straight once more, holding Hermione against her side. Hermione, for her part, was speechless for several minutes.

"You brought me here to do that?"

"You had mentioned that we had not yet kissed. I felt we should before gallivanting off to a distant land, on the run from the law and such."

"Well, you picked a lovely place."

"This is potentially my favourite place in all of Britain."

"Where are we?"

"Beinn Nibheis, on the southern end of the Great Glen Fault. We are about a hundred kilometers from my home._" _Minerva pointed in a northeasterly direction.

"Ben Nevis?"

"Yes."

"You brought me to the highest mountain in Britain for our first kiss?"

"I did."

"You are so very hot." Hermione leapt upon Minerva and began kissing her furiously, eventually stopping with something between a purr and a growl. "We will come back here once the mess with the Ministry is fixed."

"Hot, you said?"

"Hot."

"No one has ever described me as 'hot.'"

"Good, then I shan't have to challenge anyone to a duel. Much as I hate to go, we should be packing."

Minerva nodded her assent. With a final look at the valley below them, they apparated back to Leòmhann.


	7. Chapter the Seventh, Part One

"Are you quite sure about this?"

"I am not, but unless you have a better plan, I suspect we ought get on with it."

Minerva furrowed her brow and looked down at the clothing Hermione had transfigured for her, which consisted of a pair of dark denim pants and a black cotton shirt emblazoned with a prism and spectrum and the words "PINK FLOYD" in yellow. Minerva squirmed a bit.

"I believe you made these pants too tight."

"On the contrary, those pants are perfect." Hermione craned her head around to get another look. "Yes; just perfect, I would say."

"And you are certain this is how a muggle woman my age would dress in this Boston place?"

"Austin, Minerva. With an 'A'."

"Austin. Nonetheless, I expect I will look quite out of place."

"You shan't. Trust me."

Minerva eyed her sceptically. "Very well," she sighed.

Hermione nodded. "Now, they are six hours behind us at present, so we should go in just a few minutes. We will apparate to Eastbourne, where I will get my money, then we will take the portkey. We will arrive at the library just as it is opening, and no one will be the wiser."

"And then?"

"And then we shall go have tea and plan our next step."

"They have tea there?"

"Of course they do...oh." Hermione glared at Minerva, who was attempting to suppress a giggle. "You are having me on."

Minerva batted her eyelashes while utterly failing to look innocent. Hermione harrumphed and pulled her into a kiss. "We ought go."

Minerva nodded. "Very well. Let us away."

Hermione took her hand and gave her a twirl as they disappeared with a crack, reappearing on a side street in the sun with the smell of salt in the air. "Draw your wand."

Minerva complied as Hermione pulled a plastic card out of her bag, fed it to a machine, and began punching buttons. She surveyed the street, wand arm tensed, and waited for the inevitably crowd of aurors to descend upon them. Half a minute later, Hermione tapped her on the shoulder.

"Grab the other end of this." She proffered a well-worn copy of _Night and Day_. "It will activate in just a mo..."

The portkey dragged them off of their feet; the familiar tug behind their navels sent them flying through...Hermione actually was not sure what medium it was through which one traveled via portkey. She made a mental note to ask Minerva later, just as they slammed into a hard floor between a leather-covered sofa and some bookshelves.

"It worked," Hermione whispered to Minerva. "We are here. It is just as I remembered it."

They were in a large room which was a good portion of the size of the Great Hall. Sunshine streamed in through the east clerestory windows. Shelves filled with periodicals and reference sets lined the walls. Several groups of comfortable looking sofas, similar to the one behind which they had landed, were placed around the north end of the room, while down the whole middle were rectangular wooden tables and chairs. The ceiling was lined with large wooden beams, upon which were painted various proverbs and decorated with boldly coloured patterns and paintings.

Minerva gawked for a full minute. Hermione had been right, and she fully understood why the young woman had remembered this room for so long.

"It is quite beautiful," Minerva whispered back.

Hermione smiled, and as the first student wandered in, she swiftly arose and sat on the sofa, opening _Night and Day_. Minerva followed suit and silently cursed herself for not having anything out to read. Hermione picked up her bag and set it pointedly in Minerva's lap. Minerva eyed the woman next to her for a moment and then began rummaging around in the bag. After a few minutes she came up with _Advanced Swordsmanship for Beginners: a Guide_, written by one Jane Puckle, DBE. She raised an eyebrow at the incongruous title and opened it up. Magically, letters appeared on the endpaper.

_At seven minutes past eight, we shall leave. This message will self-destruct._

Minerva gasped and slammed the book shut. Hermione erupted into a fit of barely-controlled silent giggles, pointed at the clock, and got up. She offered Minerva a hand up, and they proceeded out of the room, which turned out to be a reading room rather than a library, through some metal detectors, and down some stairs with an oaken banister.

Hermione held open a door for Minerva, who emerged into the bright sunlight.

"Dear MERLIN, what is this heat?"

Hermione smiled at her somewhat ruefully. "Welcome to Texas? Besides, it is not at all that hot."

"It is like high summer in Kent. One of the several reasons why I shan't return."

Hermione chuckled and took her hand, leading her toward the west. "Oh yes? What are the other reasons?"

**A/N Bah, I know that this is short. It is in fact only half a chapter, but writer's block has been destroying my soul. I decided to publish this bit in the hope that it would spur me onward. I appreciate everyone's reading and encouragement. And patience.**


	8. Chapter the Seventh, Part Two

**Author's Note: I LIVE! I must apologise for keeping you all waiting (I have gotten a not insignificant number of PMs regarding this story); I have been writing a piece of original fiction, the first part of which I have just published (this is terrifying, by the way). So, now that I am in a less stressful place, creatively speaking, I shall be updating more regularly. Thank you again for hanging with me. **

"The other reasons," replied Minerva as they wove their way through a throng of students, "is one reason. And that reason is a witch who shan't be named because if I name her she will appear just here in front of us and want to know why she and I are not friends."

Hermione looked over at her wryly and raised an eyebrow. "Oooh...Minerva McGonagall has a jilted lover?"

"I do not have her. Nor does she have me, which is the source of the problem. She thinks she ought have me." She looked over her shoulder quickly.

Hermione snickered at Minerva's obvious unease. Minerva frowned and shook her head.

"I am quite serious. I feel as though she has a Trace on me and a Taboo on her name, so that should I for some reason slip up and speak it, she will instantly know where I am and arrive at my location to whinge at me."

Hermione nodded solemnly, yet with a twinkle of mirth in her eye. "Well, I shall protect you from her should she arrive. Fear not." She stopped walking as they reached a traffic light at a busy street. A bus roared by them and Minerva recoiled from the kerb as three more followed.

"It is very loud here," she called over the noise. Hermione responded by taking her hand.

"Just remember to look left."

The light changed and they, along with a crowd of students, made their way across the street. Hermione pointed to the left. "There is a coffee shop just there. They should have tea as well."

Heat radiated off of the pavement, and both women were soaked in sweat before they made it the half block to the coffee shop entrance.

Minerva panted as the rush of air conditioning hit her inside the entrance. "Is it always this bloody hot here?"

"I don't know, Minerva. This is only the second time I've been here in the whole of my life."

As they approached the bar, the barista asked their order.

Minerva cast a brief look at Hermione, who was studying the menu. "Tea. Earl Grey, hot."

The barista smirked and saluted. "Aye, Captain." Hermione giggled. Minerva frowned and turned to Hermione.

"Is that young man mocking me?"

"I will explain later." The barista handed Minerva her tea and Hermione proceeded to place her order. They made their way upstairs and seated themselves at a table near a large plate glass window. Minerva gazed out of it at the street below, then turned to Hermione.

"What shall we do now?"

Hermione blinked. "Am I responsible for the plan?"

Minerva smirked. "You have done a fine job of planning thus far, have you not? This does not look like Azkaban to me."

Hermione smiled back at her. "Well, this might not be Azkaban, but we are in fact in a rather warm foreign country with no support and, importantly, nowhere to sleep tonight."

Minerva leaned back in her chair. "This may come as a shock to you, so prepare yourself." Hermione leaned over the table, intrigued. Minerva mirrored her movement, and whispered, "I am a witch. You are a witch as well. Using magic, we might create ourselves a shelter." She assumed her previous posture and said aloud. "Shocking, is it not?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do recall that I have spent the entire time I have known that I am a witch unable to use magic outside of Hogwarts. It does take some adjustment."

Minerva smiled. "I remember that feeling. At any rate, what do you think we ought do?"

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Well, we have solved our immediate problem, but the fact does remain that we are fugitives from the Ministry and that one of the most politically powerful wizards in Britain is out for my blood, and yours as well. As I see it, we have three options, and none of them are particularly appealing. One, we may stay here in exile, open a pub, and hope that immigration does not notice us; two, we may dig up as much information as we can on Lucius Malfoy in order to exonerate ourselves, or three..." she hesitated.

Minerva prodded her arm.

Hermione eyed her wryly. "Three...we can throw all caution to the wind and try to disable or kill him."

Minerva peered at her. "Do not think that has not crossed my mind."

"The pub?"

"No. Ending Lucius Malfoy. The first time I seriously contemplated it was in late nineteen seventy-three, and I stopped counting or noting the occasions in the early eighties."

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Well, I was mostly suggesting that option for an even three, but if you really want to, I will help you. Such is my devotion to you." She took a sip of her coffee.

Minerva's rejoinder was cut off by a commotion at the other end of the room. Hermione looked up to see that a long-haired man in striped parachute pants had just hip checked a table, it seemed, and the woman sitting at it was now covered in hot latte. The latte-covered woman expressed her displeasure with the hip checker by shouting at him repeatedly and referring to him as a dirty hippy, among other disparagements. Hermione's eyes grew wide as she recognised the hippy as Rabastan Lestrange. She took firm hold of Minerva's arm and apparated.

A moment later, they slammed into verdant grass. Minerva quickly pushed herself up. "What on Earth was that about?"

Hermione, supine in the grass, stared up at Minerva. "Rabastan Lestrange was in the coffee shop."

Minerva stared at her, mouth agape, for several seconds before she composed herself. "You don't say."

"Indeed; I recognised him from the Department of Mysteries. It was him. He was trying to disguise himself as a Muggle, and he was in the coffee shop. How could he have found us?"

"How do you know he did not merely want a coffee?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Minerva. How could he have found us?"

"My dear, if I knew that, I would have seen him coming and we could have made a more dignified exit."

"Do you suppose he could have followed us here?"

"It is possible of course," Minerva replied. "given that he found us in the tea shop in the first place. But I do feel that he was rather occupied at the moment we left, so it would be a mite difficult for him to have followed us here. Where are we, by the way?"

Hermione looked around. They had appeared under a copse of large trees and onto a soft lawn. To her right was a black metal statue of a man on a horse, and beyond that stood an enormous granite building. "We are at the Capitol."

"The what?"

"It is the Muggle Ministry for Texas."

"Ah. Still in the same city?"

"Yes. From what I remember, I do not think we are actually very far from the coffee shop."

Minerva nodded. "Then we should be on guard. Rabastan Lestrange is not a terribly dangerous man alone, but if he found us then others might as well, and that would be dangerous indeed."

"I still do not understand how he found us." Hermione frowned. "You joked earlier that your...previous paramour...might have a Taboo on her name. Do you suppose that any of the people we have been discussing might have a Taboo on theirs?"

Minerva furrowed her brow. "Taboos are notoriously difficult to cast, and I am unconvinced that Lu—that the people we have been discussing have the talent or power to cast one. However, we might do well to avoid excessive unnecessary use of words which are related to those individuals in order to avoid possible ambush."

Hermione nodded. "I agree." She smirked. "There are those among us who refer to the younger as "The Ferret at school. Would that be adequate shorthand for the matter?"

Minerva blinked at her. "Ferret?"

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Ferret."

"Why do you call him that?"

"Primarily because self-important son of a bitch takes too long to say."

Minerva chortled and said, "You know, I always did tell the other professors that you are not the pure goodness and innocence that they all think you are."

Hermione opened her mouth to enquire further into that matter, but the loud crack of apparition interrupted her and she found herself being crushed beneath Minerva, who had thrown herself atop Hermione presumably to shield her from whatever curses were being thrown their way.

"There are four. Two will be in front of you when you sit up. Stay low. They are not terribly accurate, but the spells they throw are rather strong. Do not underestimate the depth of my affection for you." Minerva pressed a searing kiss to Hermione's lips, and suddenly her weight was gone.

Hermione rolled and rotated herself so that she was now on her belly but facing the two wizards or witches—presumably Death Eaters—whom Minerva had left her. They were far enough apart that she could not take them out with a single spell. Flashes of red and yellow light hit the ground near her. At least they were not yet duelling to kill. She shot a body-bind curse at the nearer of the two and rolled over into the shallow hole created by one of their spells, sheltering behind the bulwark of soil now in front of her. She chanced a look over her shoulder and saw Minerva crouched behind a tree, throwing spells at a single, but apparently wily, adversary.

Looking back in front of her, Hermione saw that her spell had been effective and that she, too, faced a single adversary. She did not have time to be relieved as a spell flew past her face. She smelled burnt hair and ozone. Pressing the side of her face to the ground, she took a deep, steadying breath and summoned the image of Draco Malfoy slamming into the courtyard wall, then popped her head up and stared down her assailant as she—as she thought of it—relaxed her mind.

The unknown witch or wizard flew backward into the marble base of a nearby statue, connected with a mighty crack, and moved no more. Behind her, Hermione could no longer hear the sounds of battle. Minerva stood, covered in soil with blood trickling from her lip, grinning at her.

"May I say, my dear, that was bloody brilliant."

Hermione blushed. "That is the first time I did that on purpose. I am not even sure what spell it might be."

Minerva quickly made her way over to inspect the bodies of Hermione's foes. "It would seem that you have your own magic, Hermione. But we really must discuss the matter elsewhere. Just a moment. _Portus._" She tossed a fallen stick onto first one body, then the other. They disappeared.

Hermione watched her silently, then asked, "Where did you send them?"

"To the Ministry. Now, we really should get away from here before all of the Muggles return with their Aurors. It would not do to get caught."


End file.
